


stolen from a thief

by benitato



Series: killugon? killugon. [7]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Flirting! Killugon, Fluff and Humor, Gon being real smooth, Killua is an embarrassed thing who doesn’t know how to respond to flirting, M/M, Thief! AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benitato/pseuds/benitato
Summary: Killua moves to Yorknew City to stir up some trouble. Instead, trouble findshim— coming in the form of fierce, tawny eyes, a stupidly attractive smile, and a penchant for saying things that make Killua flush red.





	1. not-so-nostalgic flashbacks

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing meet-cutes, I honestly do. Especially Killugon ones. This is just a small, fluffy breather from my other, more intense fics. Hope you guys enjoy!

 

_  
“Kil— get up and try again.”_

_  
Illumi’s voice is barely above a whisper, but it slithers all the way across the room and creeps into the crevices of Killua’s skin. The elder Zoldyck had recently taken a harsh reprimanding from their father, and Killua hasn’t exactly been subtle about it._

_  
“Was that what you said to the target?” Killua sneers as spitefully as he could with a bruised face. “No wonder he escaped.”_

_  
Crack!_

_  
Killua feels the imprint of Illumi’s hand across his left cheek, feels his lip splitting open, but it’s too humorous, really— he gives himself a mental pat on the back for thinking of an actual retort and not his usual ‘fuck off’. So Killua laughs, feeling his bottom lip throb painfully and the blood trickle down the corner of his mouth._

_  
Leave it to Illumi to turn him into a punching bag and call it ‘training’._

_  
“Ah, look what you did,” Killua absently glances at the visible rusty stain already forming on the front of his tee. “This was my favorite shirt. You know Amane hates washing out blood.”_

_  
“It’s their job,” Illumi drawls and wipes his hand boredly with a handkerchief._

_  
“At least they do it right. You might wanna take note of that.” Killua can’t help it— he almost always starts this vicious cycle of taunt-and-get hit, since it’s practically all he can do in this kind of training. This time, though, he’s expecting the blow— a deft uppercut to the jaw._

_  
Illumi is fast, but Killua is faster._

_  
Killua dodges it as well as the faked swing at his torso, but not as he cleanly as he would’ve liked— Illumi’s knuckles graze his jawline with what felt like the force of a truck at full speed._

_  
Killua forces his feet to stay grounded but is sent halfway across the room anyway. He drives his hand into the concrete floor for stability as he is dragged backwards by the impact. He staggers, just barely straightening up when he feels something ramming even harder into the center of his back— Illumi is suddenly behind him, elbow raised. Killua finds himself sprawled on the ground, tasting dirt and humiliation and despair._

_  
“What was that, Kil?” Illumi’s sentence is punctuated with a kick to Killua’s ribs. Mouth curling into a cold sneer, he leans towards the younger Zoldyck still struggling to get up from the floor. “If you can’t even beat me, then you should forget about saving her.”_

_  
A hand wraps around his throat, and—_

 

  
Killua woke up in a cold sweat; heart pounding, hands trembling, and two years older than he was in that repetitive nightmare.

 

  
He needed a shower.

 

* * *

 

  
Looking in the mirror after a good, cold bath was never one of Killua’s favorite morning routines, but he did it anyway.

  
_Ah, fuck,_ was his first thought as he stared at his disheveled, wet appearance. _Tired_ , was the second. The body length mirror showed him more of his deathly pale self than he needed or wanted to see— long, aching limbs. White hair, nearly blinding under the harsh fluorescent light, plastered to his skin in some places, sticking up in wild tufts in others. Shadows the color of angry bruises under his eyes. Lips chapped and bitten ragged. Too-thin torso, with too-defined bones jutting out. Hastily-wrapped towel nearly falling off of narrow hips.

 

  
He really did hate mirrors.

 

  
Though Killua was glad for the bathroom, the whole apartment left much to be desired. He’d stashed plenty of Jennys before running away, more than enough to secure him this hidden area, since he’d decided that acquiring an expensive condominium would be the least subtle thing he could do and most likely attract the attention of his family.

  
He was already starting to regret it.

  
The good thing about living alone in a small, dingy room was that there was no schedule to follow. Grabbing a plain black turtleneck and some pants from the mothball-ridden drawer, Killua quickly pulled those on before his fingers found the only adornment he wore: an old, silver wristwatch with a lightning bolt engraved behind the glass. He absentmindedly rubbed it between his fingertips, as if drawing out luck, and inevitably his mind wandered towards when he’d gotten it— a memory older even than the nightmare.

 

  
_“Keep it for me, Brother? I’ll see you real soon.” It’s almost funny how their roles are reversed— Alluka smiles serenely, as if she isn’t about to be sent away to a medical facility on the other side of the hemisphere. Killua can only stare, vision blurry with held-back tears, as something cold and small is pressed into his palm by Alluka’s dainty, childlike fingers. He looks down at it, squinting in the weak moonlight._

_  
It’s her favorite wristwatch, its delicate, chain-like strap already showing a lovely worn luster of silver. The watch’s face is plain black, a contrast to the strap, save for a single blue lightning bolt in the middle._

_  
Something in his chest pierces painfully when he sees his sister’s parting gift, at the thought of Alluka still giving away what little she has left of her belongings._

_  
“Let her go!” Killua screams, his already-raw throat damaged even further. But it does not faze the stoic-looking butlers that escort Alluka to an armored car with blacked-out windows. He would’ve already beaten them to it were he not held back by a firm hand at his shoulder._

_  
Silva Zoldyck’s strength makes no exceptions, even for his own son._

_  
Killua knows that, but if he stopped struggling, it would feel like betrayal to Alluka. He looks up instead at Silva, eyes pained and voice ragged._

_  
“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Killua whispers as the doors to the car shut with barely any noise. “She was doing fine. She doesn’t need help.”_

_  
“Forgetting her identity and the names of family members, asking for gruesome things of our butlers who, of course, cannot refuse— is that what you call fine?” Silva’s grip on Killua’s shoulder tightens as the car backs out of the mansion’s driveway, tires screeching in haste._

_  
“It wasn’t like that until you told her something was wrong with her,” Killua spits out the words as harshly as he dares. Silva turns to look at him. Killua steels himself for the slap he knows will follow, but instead, he’s greeted with a tired sigh. The next words are so out of character, spoken so softly, that Killua almost thinks he imagines it._

_  
“It’s not easy for me, too. You’ll understand someday.” The vice-like hand releases Killua shoulder and the large presence of his father withdraws, leaving Killua to stand alone in the shadow of the doorway._

 

  
It’s already been three years, four months, and a week, and still Killua hasn’t understood.

  
He exhaled harshly, leaning his forehead against the windowpane, breath fogging up the glass. The bright, bustling streets of Yorknew made a stark contrast to his thoughts. Women in pastel dresses, buildings with marble pillars, the sound of easy conversation— it was all too cheerful. The elite in the city that never slept, oblivious to the terror that lurked in areas they dare not visit. Like the dark recesses of the Zoldyck manor.

 

  
It disgusted Killua.

 

  
No, what this city needed was _trouble_. And who better to provide that than an underage ex-assassin living on his own?

 

  
Killua put on the wristwatch, wrapped a threadbare, blue scarf around his neck, and stepped out into the blinding sunlight.

 


	2. how the turn tables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation. 
> 
> (chapter title is from my fav episode of The Office lol)

_It really was quite a pretty day,_ Killua thought privately as he strolled through streets bathed in sunlight. It was almost a shame to ruin it for someone else.

 

Buildings rose on either sides of his vision, softly golden in the way that only city foundations can be in the late afternoon. The weather was a contrasting mixture of sunny and windy — one of Killua’s favorites. It felt like someone up there was confused as well.

 

 

Weirdly, it gave him a sense of comfort.

 

 

Though the impending winter could be tasted in the quickly chilling air, the pavement almost felt warm under his feet. He shivered as a particularly sharp gust stung his face, and he burrowed further into the threadbare, blue scarf.

 

It smelled like sleep.

 

 

Crime, he’d decided while walking, was best done discreetly and the act best left unnoticed. Assassination, though his obvious specialty, was out of the question. Besides, killing for no reason was a waste, and the Yorknew Police force sniffing around wasn’t something he needed— as an underage citizen, he’d surely attract unwanted attention. Would beating someone up do? Or maybe vandalizing the City Hall with some vulgar graffiti? (His spray painting was actually kind of decent)

 

 

Killua’s shoes traced a path to the park. The place was disgustingly quaint and lovely— acres of trees shedding red-yellow, fiery-looking in the soft breeze, not one piece of plastic to be found in grass cut equally one inch above the ground, stone benches strategically placed under the shelter of great oaks. Even the air smelled clean and crisp. The centerpiece was the grand lake spanning almost half of the entire park, its stillness broken only by the trail of a stray, graceful swan, gliding noiselessly across the water.

 

 

Few people disturbed the peaceful scene. A dog lay snoozing on the ground beside a withered old man. Even the children playing quietly had an air of formality about them, as if they were too properly brought up to be rambunctious. Which they probably were.

 

 

But the minute Killua caught glimpse of a person sitting alone on one of the stone benches, an idea had begun creeping into his mind.

 

 

Killua subtly drew closer to the bench nearest the lake, where his would-be victim now sat. From the side, Killua could see it was a boy— certainly too young-looking to be called a man. He looked (conveniently) to be about Killua’s age — 17, maybe 18, tops. Not that it mattered— Killua could steal the socks off of anyone’s feet in plain sight.

 

 

Yes, he’d resorted to stealing. Sue him.

 

 

Feigning great interest in the swan ruffling its feathers, Killua slowly walked up to the bench, stopping just short of sitting on it. He could feel the person’s initial glance at his presence; pretended that standing by occupied stone benches was the most natural thing in the world to do. Killua realized he wasn’t exactly sure how to get within pickpocketing range— start up a conversation? Or pretend to brush up against the person? He stood there debating for a few seconds before an amused voice shook him out of his thoughts.

 

 

“You can sit here, you know. That’s what chairs are for.”

 

 

Maybe Killua had gone tone-deaf, but he could’ve sworn it didn’t sound condescending at all.

 

 

Killua glanced at the boy once out of the corner of his eye, did a double take, then promptly stared instead.

 

 

The hair got his attention first.

 

 

It was wildly sticking out in wind-tousled spikes, yet it looked as if it were arranged artfully to seem that way. A jawline hinted at sharp edges of manhood, yet rounded cheeks gave the shapely face a strangely boyish charm. Mouth tilted to one side, it seemed like he was perpetually on the verge of breaking out into laughter.

 

 

Not a bad looking face, Killua observed. But his eyes were something else— the hue was teetering dangerously between brown and gold and looked like the earth itself. Killua felt like dust could flow out from those strange, haunted eyes.

 

 

The hair was one thing, but the clothes were almost as strange, because Killua wondered where on earth could one procure dark green jeans. A jacket of a similar color fit the boy snugly; it looked expensive. A simple black shirt and spotless white sneakers completed the outfit.

 

 

A movement caught Killua’s eye— the boy was tilting his head, a curiously amused lilt to his mouth. Killua realized it was amusement at the expense of catching someone staring. In this case, it was Killua.

 

 

Willing his brain to spit out an equally witty reply after obviously checking out this (objectively) attractive person, the best Killua could come up with was—

 

 

“Bench.”

 

 

Gravity-Defying-Hair shot him a confused look. “Excuse me?”

 

 

“It’s a bench,” Killua swore internally. Oh, he knew he was an asshole, but now wasn’t probably one of the best times to show it. Not if he wanted his plan to work. “Bench, not chair.”

 

 

Instead of the angry, indignant retort he’d expected, Killua could only stare in confusion as the boy with the strange eyes laughed outright, as if Killua’s rudeness didn’t faze him one bit. The simple, almost childlike sound weighed heavily on Killua’s chest. For a moment, he was reminded of Alluka’s own laughter, bubbling from cherry lips.

 

 

“Right, sorry— been out of it all day. I drink this to put me right.” The boy laughed sheepishly, holding up a cup with a ridiculously expensive logo of some coffee shop chain branded on the front. Scents of caffeine and bitterness wafted in the air. Something glinted on the boy’s finger that Killua hadn’t previously noticed— a band of silver, with a sizable green stone set in it. It looked valuable.

 

 

Very valuable, indeed.

 

 

The boy patted the spot on the bench-not-chair beside him. “So, you just gonna stand there and stare at me, or what?”

 

 

Killua blinked. “Don’t flatter yourself,” the ex-assassin grumbled, but took a seat anyway. The boy just laughed pleasantly again, as if to spite Killua. This was already way different from what Killua’s initial plan had been, but he wasn’t going to let Spiky-Hairdo take the lead.

 

 

“Got a name?” Killua asked casually, not looking at the green bundle of energy and hair.

 

 

“Yeah, don’t you?”

 

 

Killua could almost hear the grin in the boy’s voice. It made his own lips twitch in an effort not to smile.

 

 

“Yeah, okay, smartass.” Killua snorted. “Like hell I’m going first.”

 

 

The boy turned to look at him then, confirming Killua’s suspicions of a hidden grin. “It’s Gon. Gon Freecss.” The boy — Gon — held out a hand, which Killua took warily.

 

 

“Killua.” The ex-assassin’s reply was deliberately short.

 

 

“Don’t suppose you have a last name.” Gon raised an eyebrow.

 

 

“Nope.” At least, not one that you should know about, Killua thought.

 

 

“Why not?” Gon pressed, leaning closer. His hand landed just centimeters away from Killua’s, pinkies nearly brushing. The ring glinted from the movement, tempting Killua to just rip it off the finger, but then Gon shifted again, and Killua found himself staring into those strange eyes. Deliberate or not, Gon’s face was too close for comfort.

 

 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Killua narrowed his eyes. Changing subjects was never one of his specialties.

 

 

The sudden shift in topic didn’t seem to bother Gon. “Shouldn’t _you?_ ” Gon laughed.

 

 

“None of your business,” Killua shot back as good-naturedly as he could, remembering he still had to play nice.

 

 

“Then what makes you think whether I go to school or not is _your_ business?” Gon’s tone sounded light but his eyes were flint and fire. The underlying hardness of Gon’s character and how quickly he’d shifted from friendly-neighborhood-guy to Killua-level smartass alarmed Killua slightly. It sent a strange thrill down his spine.

 

 

But Gon did have a point.

 

 

Killua shrugged in defeat. A heavy, awkward silence had begun to settle in the air, so different from the playful banter that had filled the spaces in between them. If Killua was going to get that ring, he needed to be likeable. Right now, he was just about as charming as Illumi afterfailing an ‘assignment’.

 

 

“I’ve already spent twelve of my seventeen years of existence in school,” Killua said hesitantly, dragging out the words through his teeth, hoping to get Gon’s attention once more. It did (and Killua didn’t know why he felt so relieved). “I’m not planning on going back there anytime soon.” There— a hint.

 

 

“Some people take longer.” Gon’s good-humored attitude was fully back, a blinding grin on his face once more. Killua wondered if the guy had any other expressions. “Me, I’ll stick out senior year, then travel.”

 

 

“You rich people,” Killua scoffed. _Us rich people._ At least he got to confirm Gon’s age to be similar to his own.

 

 

“Not rich,” Gon corrected him. “My family’s got enough to live comfortably, is all.”

 

 

Killua looked him up and down pointedly, lingering on the expensive outfit. Gon shrugged. “Well,” Killua continued, “any actual, humble ambitions?”

 

 

“Never said I didn’t have plans,” Gon’s grin turned sly and mischievous and made Killua’s heart skip a beat.

 

 

_The fuck?_

 

The guy obviously oozed charm and Killua couldn’t possibly be susceptible if he was aware of it.

 

 

Right?

 

 

“Enlighten me,” Killua said drily, crossing his arms and making himself as comfortable as one could get on a stone bench.

 

 

_Enlighten me? Why was he now speaking like some 17th century knobhead?_

_Did Gon slip him some sort of drug? Mixed in with the coffee steam he’d inhaled?_

 

Killua definitely needed to look into Gon Freecss. For potential threat scanning, of course.

 

 

“Well, for starters,” Gon faced Killua sideways, one arm slung across the back of their shared bench, “I’m going traveling to find my dad.”

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Warm sunlight bathed their spot in liquid gold, warding off the chill of impending evening. Removing his scarf which now felt scratchy, Killua instinctively faced towards the warmth, eyes fluttering, reveling in the sensation of coldness leaving his body. He opened his eyes to a sight that only sent unnecessary heat to his face.

 

 

Gon was staring. Eyes intent and—

 

 

_fond?_

 

 

“He get lost or something?” Killua coughed and looked away, picking up their conversation. He didn’t know why he was even embarrassed in the first place; Gon was the one watching him.

 

 

“Sort of. I mean, is it called getting lost if you do it intentionally?” Gon shrugged, casual even when caught red-handed.

 

 

“Ah. Disappeared, then,” Killua absently commented, then backtracked hastily, not wanting a repeat of the earlier rude scenario. “Sorry, I—“

 

 

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Gon laughed a bit, waving Killua’s concern away. “It’s true, though. My aunt says he left to focus on his job.”

 

 

_Aunt, not mother— no parents, then?_ Killua wondered. “But you still want to find him?” Killua pressed.

 

 

“Guess so,” Gon shrugged.

 

 

“You gonna pick a fight?”

 

 

“Nah.”

 

 

“Then why?” Killua couldn’t help it.

 

 

“Because I want to see how great of a job he has to make him leave something as important as family behind.” The words that flew out of Gon’s mouth sounded resolute and his tone was calm. You could’ve almost ignored the fact that his logic was absolutely, completely, bat-shit crazy.

 

 

Killua didn’t.

 

 

“You’re mad.” Killua shook his head and sighed.

 

 

“Huh? No, I’m not.” Gon blinked. “I just told you—“

 

 

“Not mad as in _angry_ ,” Killua laughed humorlessly. “Mad as in _I-think-you’re-crazy-for-thinking-that_.”

 

 

“Oh.” Gon laughed sheepishly. “People do tell me that often.”

 

 

“But not people whom you’ve just met, I suppose.”

 

 

“Mmm, no,” Gon agreed. “Then again, I don’t tell my life story to people I’ve just met.”

 

 

“What does that make me, then?” Killua raised an eyebrow.

 

 

“Someone special.” Gon winked. Winked. Killua felt the whisper of a flush sweep across his face. He hiked up his scarf self-consciously to hide it. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone wink in person. Ever.

 

 

“That cute pick-up line might work on twelve-year-old girls, but not today, and not on me.” Killua rolled his eyes as sarcastically as he could manage.

 

 

“You thought that was cute?” Gon laughed— a surprisingly pleasant, _shy_ sound. This confused Killua all the more, as he didn’t know what to make of Gon Freecss.

 

 

And what Killua hated the most was not understanding.

 

 

Casual and composed one minute, warm and friendly and close the next. He didn’t like this Gon Freecss’ dangerous magnetism and true nature, which constantly evaded Killua’s deducing. You couldn’t tell whether people like that were on their guard or not. This was his cue to leave.

 

 

Killua stood up. “Not really. Thanks for letting me sit.” He stretched his arms above his head, feeling a satisfactory _crack!_ resonate in his bones. Maybe he’ll have better luck with the old man and his dog, just a few meters away.

 

 

“Where’re you going?” Gon asked curiously, basking in Killua’s shadow.

 

 

“Nowhere.” Killua wondered whether the conversation he’d be having with his next victim would be as interesting as this one.

 

 

“Is it because of what I said?” Gon called out.

 

 

“See you around.” Killua lifted a hand carelessly in farewell, forcing himself not to look back. He’d only made it a few steps away from the lake when he stopped in his tracks. My scarf, Killua realized, and turned abruptly to retrieve it from the bench when he bumped into something.

 

 

_Hard._

 

 

Nearly reeling backwards, instinct made his hands reach out to balance himself, but where there should’ve been empty air, Killua’s fingers grasped strong shoulders. His gaze met a slightly curled mouth. He didn’t have to look upwards to know whose smug face it was, or whose hands grasped his waist to keep him steady— that much was obvious from the too well-fitted green jacket and lean frame.

 

 

Killua wondered just what the hell it would take to get rid of Gon Freecss.

 

 

Yet—

 

 

Why, for some god-forsaken reason, didn’t he mind the proximity of their faces? Or the way Killua was slightly dipped backwards, coercing Gon to lean over him? Or—

 

 

Slitted rays of light broke out from behind the clouds and washed over both boys, and, rather unfortunately, Killua chose then to look Gon Freecss straight in the eyes.

 

 

Killua’s breath caught in his throat.

 

 

Gon’s hair was outlined in fire, skin bronze and warm, the slopes and planes of his face only made more attractive. Killua was wrong to have assigned one particular color to Gon’s eyes because a thousand hues resided in his irises alone, all fractals of sunshine and simmering with intensity. The coffee-stained breath sent Killua’s bangs fluttering and _Gon’s heart was beating rapid-fire against his ribcage._ Killua was sure he wasn’t imagining the heavy _want_ in the curl of Gon’s fingers around his waist, all of which belied his earlier casualness.

 

 

_Fuck it._

 

 

Killua tilted his chin upwards and that was all it took for Gon to fall headlong into sky-blue eyes.

 

 

Later on, Killua would deny that he wasn’t in the habit of making out with strangers in the middle of a — granted, almost deserted — park. But right now, he sighed against Gon’s mouth as Gon backed them into the nearest tree, hands exploring the lean, muscular chest in front of him. Gon’s deft fingers threaded through Killua’s curls, lips never once breaking contact with Killua’s, moving with equal fervor.

 

 

Being pinned against a tree, Killua’s defensive instincts would have normally acted up, so he wondered why he didn’t feel at all threatened in that moment.

 

 

Probably because Gon’s tongue felt so good in his mouth that he’d forgotten all semblance of a defense maneuver.

 

 

_More_ , whispered Killua’s brain as Gon wedged a knee between his legs. _More_ , as Gon made a growling sound in his throat when Killua bit his bottom lip. _More_ , as Killua’s hands traced Gon’s biceps, steel clad in rippling muscle and skin, before moving down to the ones now gripping at his waist.

 

 

_Enough_ , as Killua’s talented fingers discreetly, silently slipped off and pocketed the silver ring with the green stone.

 

 

Killua let the kiss last for a few more seconds before breaking it off, breathing raggedly. Gon’s mouth didn’t seem to want to, though, as it hovered near his own for a few wild seconds, before pulling away as well.

 

 

Gon looked deliciously undone— jacket slipping off of one shoulder, eyes half-lidded, mouth bruised and wet, hair tousled even more. Killua didn’t even want to _think_ what he himself looked like— probably wrecked, and not as attractive as Gon.

 

 

Killua snuck a few glances behind Gon to see if they had an audience. As expected, quite a few people were already staring— mostly scandalized women and couples. But Killua honestly couldn’t have cared less if the old man had seen them.

 

 

Now to deal with this.

 

 

“Um,” Killua began, then cringed as his hoarse voice filled the silence. “I should go.”

 

 

Gon blinked a few times, as if processing Killua’s words, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, um. I should, too.” He laughed hesitantly, running a hand through his hair and rearranging his jacket. Killua forced himself not to watch. He remembered the ring in the front pocket of his jeans.

 

 

“Sure. Bye.” Killua immediately began walking away, but before he could go, Gon called out once more.

 

 

“Killua.”

 

 

The ex-assassin stiffened, thinking he’d been caught after all. Slowly, he turned around, feet poised and ready to run.

 

 

Gon held up his threadbare, blue scarf.

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Killua stepped forward again but Gon was already meeting him halfway. Before Killua could reach for the proffered garment, Gon suddenly reached for Killua’s wrist instead and drew him close. Killua tensed all over, but all Gon did was wrap the scarf around his pale, exposed neck.

 

 

“You’ll catch a cold,” Gon said almost tenderly as he tucked in the ends. Bewildered, all Killua could do was stare helplessly, the ring in his pocket weighing heavily with something familiar— _guilt_.

 

 

This wasn’t part of the plan. Something in Killua’s chest splintered— a sweet, new pain he couldn’t identify.

 

 

But before he could say anything more, Gon brushed the tips of his fingers against Killua’s cheeks, then abruptly turned heel and left. Killua was left staring at the back of the green jacket as it rounded the corner, and then it was gone.

 

 

”Well,” Killua shrugged inwardly. “Well.” He couldn’t let one person change his goal, and that was to teach this city a lesson. The park was considerably less empty now, with people going there to sightsee after getting off from work. Potential victims, every single one of them. But Killua doubted he’d meet another one like Gon.

 

 

Quite an anecdote. A memory to look back on in amusement when he’d turn old and alone and gray. Well, grayer than he was right now.

 

 

And maybe something to look forward to when he’d be alone later in his room at night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was nearing 5 in the evening when Killua declared his little mission a success. Sitting on his and Gon’s shared bench earlier, Killua did a mental checklist of all the things he’d ‘acquired’:

 

 

Silver filigree bracelet from a too-excited blonde— in his front left jeans pocket.

 

 

An amethyst brooch from a lady whose neckline was conveniently lowered when he’d struck up a reluctant conversation— in one of his boots.

 

 

A full wallet from a distracted businessman on a call— back pocket, left side.

 

 

And Gon’s ring, silver and plain, in his front right jeans pocket.

 

 

With the initial thrill of a crime unnoticed already fading, Killua’s fingers found the ring, and he kept fiddling with it in his pocket, as if it were a good luck ch—

 

 

Killua froze.

 

 

_No_.

 

 

He didn’t dare look, but he didn’t have to to check if it was still there. The absence of its presence on his wrist was something he should’ve felt earlier ago.

 

 

_Fucking hell—_

 

 

With something akin to dread seizing his stomach, Killua pulled out his left hand from his pocket.

 

 

It was, as he’d suspected, missing a watch.

 

 

Alluka’s wristwatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took this long to post! The story turned out to be longer than I thought it’d be, and school hasn’t exactly been breezy. I’ll try to update more often. 
> 
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification, Alluka has a split-personality disorder, and in this story she occasionally changed into — you guessed it — Nanika. This is why she’s sent to that medical facility.
> 
> Yorknew City in this version is sort of like a place for ridiculously elite people, as mentioned. 
> 
> The Zoldycks are still filthy rich and infamous for being assassins, of course.


End file.
